


Only Dumbasses Get Sick

by Chikita



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emetophobia, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Headaches, Hinata is a good friend, Hurt/Comfort, Motion Sickness, Nausea/Vomiting, Sick Kageyama, Sickfic, Some Humor (later)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chikita/pseuds/Chikita
Summary: Kageyama had never understood why some people (mainly Hinata) felt the need to throw up on road trips. Blaming junk food, lack of sleep or Hinata’s anxiety was what he had done until he made the mistake of focusing too much on his volleyball log on an hour-long bus ride.Read: Kageyama gets terribly motion sick for the first time in his life. Hinata helps him recover.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 7
Kudos: 115





	Only Dumbasses Get Sick

**Author's Note:**

> This turned far more detailed than I expected it to be so I was worried about posting it on my main account. I guess this is pretty graphic but it wasn’t intended as kink (some might disagree 😅) but me thinking, hey! I’ve gotten motion sick on every form of transportation one can think of, why not put one of my favorite “victims” through the same thing?
> 
> This is 100 % own experiences played up for drama, minus the cute part, read at your own risk!

“Hey, you still writing in that thing? Come on, we’re partners, you can show me!”

Kageyama grumbled under his breath as Hinata leaned over to take a peak. Kageyama was half-inclined to tell him to back off and mind his own business while shielding the page with his hand, but it wasn’t a “real” diary anyway. It was a logbook to keep track of everything related to their matches. Not just the plain results, but facts about all of their opponents’ strengths and weaknesses. That, however, didn’t stop Hinata from calling it a “diary” and acting like it was some super mysterious thing he needed to see whenever he wrote down a few sentences.

“Your handwriting is as messy as ever. Looks almost like a different language,” Hinata noted without being asked and settled back into his former position. His posture looked strained and unnatural, and that was enough to make Kageyama revert his attention from the notebook to him.

In every other situation, the little dumbass would pester him until he either got bored or found someone else to talk to. But now, they were on a bus, the rumble of the engine the only noise piercing the silence when neither of them was talking, most of their teammates fast asleep. The match had been grueling, making it even more important to write down all the details so they wouldn’t make the same mistakes when playing against that team in an official tournament.

“What’s up with you?” Hinata didn’t turn his head, but he did glare at him. And then he sighed.

“We’re on a bus. You know I’ll get sick if I’m not careful. Unlike you, I can’t write my diary while I’m sitting in a moving vehicle.” There was a hint of envy in his voice towards the end of his speech, and he crossed his arms over his chest, a pout making his lips look like that of a fish.

“It’s not a diary, dumbass,” Kageyama scoffed, shaking his head. He’d never understood how people managed to get sick on any form of transportation. If anything, he _enjoyed_ long bus rides, especially those after a match where he could either sleep or quietly reflect on said match.

Hinata was different. The first time they’d been on a bus together, Hinata had thrown up on Tanaka’s lap five minutes after they hit the road. At the moment, most of his teammates had blamed his anxiety and sleep deprivation. The next time, it had been a combination of this and junk food. Kageyama hadn’t felt _any_ sympathy for him back then. What self-respecting athlete stuffed himself with a gratuitous amount of fried pork cutlets before stepping on the court?

“You’ve been scribbling in that thing for over an hour, “ Hinata said, still pouting, “That’s the surest way to get a headache.” Kageyama’s frown deepened and he gripped his pen a bit tighter.

“Just because _you_ forgot your anti-vomiting pills at home doesn’t mean you have to lecture me.” Hinata opened his mouth to protest but before he could come up with a “witty” reply, the bus swerved around a corner, making him yelp and screw his eyes shut as if he was being stabbed. The sudden, jerky movement had woken up a few of their teammates, and the coach’s ranting about traffic echoed through the bus. It took Hinata a few minutes to reopen his eyes but he didn’t seem to be in the mood to pick up their conversation, so Kageyama left him alone.

He turned back to his log, scanning the page. There were still some things he had to note down before they got back to Miyagi, and the further he got with his “volleyball studies” now, the less he would have to do at home and be able to go straight to bed after a hot shower.

The rumble of the engine was the only noise reaching his ears. It was relaxing, the perfect kind of quiet.

\---

Time passed slowly. Too slowly. They’d moved from the highway onto a rural road to get past the worst of traffic, but it only slowed them down further. The winding, uneven road made it difficult for Kageyama to take more notes, or even re-read the lines he’d written without the letters blurring into an unreadable mess. Maybe that was what teachers saw when they checked his essays...and the reason why some didn’t bother and gave him zero points every time.

On his right, Hinata had fallen asleep, chest heaving with slow, even breaths, face turned sideways. With a grimace, Kageyama leaned back, blinking against the dizziness setting in. A part of him wanted to follow his partner’s lead and close his eyes, but he was almost finished with his work. If he stopped now, he would lose his train of thoughts, rendering his reports scrappy and incomplete. Pure stubbornness and the underlying desire to prove Hinata wrong forced him to get back on track. His hand was trembling, teeth clenched in an attempt to hold onto the last bit of focus he had. Just a few more lines. Two more sketches of the court. Then he could shut off and enter the land of dreams until Hinata yelled in his ear that they were home.

It took him multiple tries to finish the last sketch, erasing and redoing the lines over and over.

The moment he allowed himself to slam the book shut, a wave of relief washed over him. It didn’t last for long because a second later, the borderline euphoric feeling was replaced by more dizziness. He closed his eyes and pressed his back into the seat, one hand moving up to hold onto the seatback. He needed to stabilize his head because, for some reason, every swerve of the bus, every pothole and sudden stop at a traffic light felt like someone was forcing a drill into his brain.

The book was sitting on his knees and he didn’t feel like picking it up to put it away, fearing that bending down would throw him off balance and intensify the throbbing in his temples. Sleeping was out of the question but keeping his eyes closed seemed to help, if only a little.

To distract himself, he allowed his memories of the match to paint a picture in his mind, a vivid, colorful picture of Fukurodani’s ace jumping high into the air to spike the ball, Noya diving to receive it, barely getting it up for Daichi to send it over to Tanaka. Everything had gone so fast. Everyone had been in constant movement, with Hinata running across the court to trick the opponent into thinking he was going to attack, the alarmed, pissed-off look of the blockers’ faces when they got wind of it and had to switch to blocking Tanaka. Constant movement. Constant-

Kageyama’s eyes snapped open, his head swimming with the realization that imagining an action-packed volleyball match wouldn’t help him deal with, what he now had to admit was a nasty headache. He took a deep, shuddery breath, then another, most likely swallowing a lot of air as he did. Despite him still gripping the seat and never changing his position, his senses were enhanced. He felt everything, acutely aware that the stupid fucking bus was moving in a way that made his body do things he didn’t want it to. Why...Why was this happening to him?

A screechy voice in the back of his still pounding head replied, but he shut it down forcefully. _No way._ He wasn’t- Hinata couldn’t have predicted this. This didn’t have to do anything with-

“Hey, Kageyama?” _Speaking of the devil._ “You were talking to yourself. Are you okay?”

Kageyama glanced over to Hinata, and while he could only see half of his face from the corner of his eye, he was very much awake. His eyes were blown wide, a tiny wrinkle in his brows making him look strangely thoughtful. Worried. Wait, Hinata? Worried? About him? Because he’d been talking to himself? _Fuck._ He clenched his teeth to prevent more words from spilling out, and as he did, he tasted something in the back of his mouth. Something sickly sweet.

“Shut up, ‘m fine,” he hissed, swallowing a few times to get rid of the excess saliva. It was the most blatant lie he’d ever told, but he couldn’t be honest and submit himself to a flood of “I told you so.” and “You never listen to my advice, you’re so stubborn Bakagayama.” Not only would it needlessly rile them up and possibly get them in trouble with Daichi or the coach, it wouldn’t help, quite the opposite. He felt awful enough _not_ talking to his nosy teammate about why his brain had turned into swirly, aching mush in the past few minutes.

“No offense, but I haven’t seen anyone look that pale before. You’re sick, aren’t you? I can tell.”

The words made Kageyama’s stomach cramp in reply and he lurched forward, placing his right hand over his abdomen. His clammy fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up in his fist. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady, “-not.” He wasn’t sick. He just had a migraine. He’d had one of those before, not nearly as intense and probably induced by stress and loud noises, but it had passed on its own. There was no reason why this one would be different.

Hinata scooted over, his hand reaching out to pick up the volleyball log that was still draped over his lap. Kageyama’s first reaction was to growl at the absolute _betrayal_ of his friend exploiting his state of vulnerability to satisfy his curiosity. but he didn’t fight back. Despite his common sense telling him otherwise, he felt like something very terrible would happen if he so much as moved his head. But instead of opening the notebook and reading it, Hinata bent down and wordlessly shoved it into Kageyama’s bag, as if he knew that he didn’t want to, _couldn’t_ do it himself.

It was a small gesture but enough to ground him, at least proving that Hinata wasn’t about to kick him while he was down. The teasing would follow later, he knew. It was just a matter of time.

He stayed like this for what felt like hours, but could only be a few minutes unless the coach had taken an unexpected detour. Traffic was flowing smoothly, so there was no reason for a delay, but every minute was one too much. At this point, the nagging pain and dizziness had morphed into outright nausea. Kageyama’s eyes roamed around the bus, trying in vain to fixate on an unmoving spot. The seats in front of him, Tanaka’s bald head, the luggage rack none of them used...nothing worked. The bus took another turn and he barely suppressed a whimper. Desperate for some, _any_ sort of distraction, he crossed his arms over his stomach and started clawing at the skin of his elbow until that part of his arm was covered in stringy red marks.

Was _that_ what Hinata went through whenever he wasn’t careful enough? Was _that_ how it felt like?

He tried to keep his breathing slow and even, knowing that whatever he did, freaking out was not an option. They were almost home. They had to be after being on the road for so long. It was dark outside, and when he took a swift glance out of the window, some of the road signs looked familiar. He’d be home in no time where he would shut off all the lights in his room and crawl under a blanket to sleep off the sensation of his head and stomach trying to murder him.

After a few more minutes, Hinata leaned forward to nudge the person on the seat in front of him. A head of messy brown hair shot up, turning and blinking at him in a sleepy daze. It was Ennoshita. Hinata made a waving gesture before whispering something in his ear. Kageyama wanted to ask what this was about, but he couldn’t speak. His mouth had filled with too much saliva again, and this time, he couldn’t bring himself to swallow even the smallest amount of it. He had to unless he wanted to start drooling onto his shirt, but it was fucking _disgusting._

When the mere thought made him gag, he instinctively moved a hand up to his mouth, biting the inside of his palm until his eyes were watering.

 _No._ He couldn’t take it. He felt sick. He felt _so sick._

Not long after, there was an obnoxious crinkling noise at his ear, and then someone, probably Hinata, thrusted something in his lap. Kageyama waited a few more seconds for the worst urge to subside before removing his soggy hand from his mouth to grab the smooth plastic wrapping. He glared at the cursed object, then at Hinata whose face was scrunched up in pity. Diffuse anger welled up in him, making his blood boil. He swallowed despite all and snapped.

“I don’t need it, I’m not gonna puke!”, he said a lot louder than he had planned to, his sudden outburst making a few heads turn. Aside from Ennoshita, Tanaka and Nishinoya eyed him with the same concerned frown Hinata was wearing, and a few seats across, Tsukishima was snickering until Daichi told him to stop because this was “serious”. Even Takeda-sensei had noticed that something was off, and Kageyama wanted to die. The fact that he’d always given Hinata a hard time for his motion sickness would make it even more ridiculous if he _did_ end up puking.

“It’s for emergencies. You don’t have to use it,” Hinata said in an unusually quiet voice and turned away to, hopefully, give him some space, “But you’ll feel much better if you do.”

“I won’t! I won’t get sick on busses! You’re the one who always gets sick!”, he shot back, cringing at the way his miserable rambling made him sound about five years younger. And yet, he was gripping the unfolded plastic bag like a lifeline, clinging to it while his stomach lurched and rolled forward. They were back on the highway, no bumps or curves in the road he could blame for his body’s reactions. He was sweating and shaking all over, the acidly taste returning.

The rational half of him was aware of his incoming demise, but the other half was _terrified._ He’d never gotten to the point of throwing up, not as a small child and certainly not past middle school age. Maybe as a baby, he’d spit his porridge at his grandpa once or twice, but that’s what all babies did. He wasn’t a baby anymore and he hadn’t eaten anything bad. He had no fucking reason to feel this ungodly horrible like his whole stomach was about to turn inside out.

“Poor dude,” Tanaka said more to Hinata than him, who gave a helpless shrug, “You’re sure it’s just motion sickness? He looks like he’s gonna die.” Kageyama shook his head to point out that he was, in fact, not “gonna die”, when the jerky movement triggered his stomach to flare up in an act of rebellion. His insides cramped and he gagged, panic making his heart skip a beat and his hand found its way back to his mouth, the other one holding the plastic bag as far out of his view as possible. If he didn’t look at it, he wouldn’t need it. He wouldn’t-

“Hey, you know Daichi gave you that sickbag for a reason,” Tanaka spoke up again, sounding baffled among other things. Kageyama had his eyes closed, unable and unwilling to face any of his teammates. So it hadn’t been Ennoshita’s? That meant Hinata had played the whisper down the lane game to get it from their captain who sat at the front with the other third years. He didn’t have time to feel ashamed because the next heave was stronger, more intense than the first two. He tried his hardest to force it down, but that only made the gagging worse. His heart was racing, head pounding. It was _scary._ But what was he more afraid of? Choking or making a mess?

“Don’t look,” he pressed out between gritted teeth as he reluctantly held the plastic bag up to his face. He withdrew the hand from his mouth, just in time for disgust to overtake and force him to spit into the bag to clear his mouth of all the liquidity junk. It wasn’t much and he almost expected the nausea to pass after that, so he leaned back, closing his eyes in false security.

Until it came back tenfold and he had to scramble for the bag as the next heave was one he couldn’t suppress.

He threw up for real this time, the contents of his stomach emptying into the bag that he was still gripping with shaking hands. For all the anxiety he’d suffered before, the action took almost no effort, as gross and shameful as it was. He didn’t have to do anything but hold the bag open and let his body do the rest. He hated it, the sheer _mortification_ of falling apart like that _,_ but he was tired, _exhausted,_ incapable of caring about anything other than getting it all in the bag.

Soon, after several rounds of vomiting, his stomach was empty, his throat burning, and while the drill in his head hadn’t stopped its torturous rhythm, he felt better. Relieved, almost. The only thing left was the bitter taste of bile on his tongue, but he could wash that away later. Not now.

He slumped into his seat and turned away from everyone else to let his forehead rest on the cool glass of the window, drained both physically and emotionally. The bag felt warm and heavy in his hands, and he looked forward to dropping the reminder of one of his weakest moments in the nearest trash bin. Someone, he couldn’t make out the voice, was yelling at Daichi to open a window. And then there was a small hand on his back, applying a gentle, but firm pressure. He didn’t question it, nor did he react. He just wanted to go home and sleep for days on end.

\---

The fact that their journey was over didn’t register to Kageyama until Hinata attempted to literally drag him off his seat by his left arm. He shook him off with a groan as he got back on his feet without help, and though his head was spinning like the blades of a helicopter, he managed to get off the bus in one piece. Nobody made any remarks about his sickness, not even Tsukishima who always felt inclined to voice his opinion, and other than a few worried glances thrown his way, everyone treated him like they always did. He couldn’t have been more thankful.

The air outside was chilly enough to soothe his frazzled nerves and he inhaled as much of it as his lungs could handle. He still felt queasy, the ground swaying under his feet as he went to get rid of his trash. Maybe if he threw it away he could pretend the whole “puking in front of everyone on the bus”-incident had never happened. He nodded to himself. Sounded like a plan.

With a sigh, he looked over to where his teammates were standing in a circle, exchanging hugs and fistbumps. Home. He had to go home. He always took the bus after a match like this, when his legs didn’t feel like carrying him further than across the street. His stomach flipped at the idea, empty as it was. The ride wouldn’t take longer than ten minutes, but in his current state, he’d rather let himself be run over by a tractor than get on _another_ moving vehicle. He was about to turn on his heel and leave when a certain someone came dashing towards him.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Kageyama flinched as Hinata’s obtrusive yelling rang in his ears. He watched the dumbass skid to a stop on the pavement, almost tripping over his feet but regaining his balance before he could crash into him and bring them both down.

“Home,” Kageyama replied in a flat tone, not getting what Hinata was on about, “I’ll walk.”

“Alone?” He looked borderline offended at his decision, “You just puked your guts out on the bus and you look like a zombie. I can’t let you walk home on your own.” Kageyama scowled. So much for pretending it had never happened. He shouldn’t have expected Hinata to keep quiet about it anyway. Then again, what was the alternative? His parents were working late as always and he didn’t have anyone else he could call and burden with something as silly as this. It wasn’t even a “real” disease like the flu or some kind of infection that a doctor would diagnose.

“Ukai-san told me to take care of you, so-” Hinata shifted on the spot, wringing his hands before snapping out of it and putting on a more determined expression, hands clenched at his sides. “I’m gonna make sure you’ll get home safe, whether you want it or not. Coach’s order!”

“Fine.” Kageyama shrugged. There wasn’t anything dangerous about walking alone, and as much as the throbbing of his head still bothered him, he wasn’t about to faint. But if Hinata insisted on keeping him company after all the disgusting things he’d done next to him, who was he to decline?

The walk home was spent in silence until they arrived at Kageyama’s house. It wasn’t far away, but without Hinata’s help, he would’ve taken a few wrong turns, unsure if it had been due to the dark, the fact that he hadn’t taken the bus, or the lingering dizziness making him jittery and careless. Hinata kept an eye on him at all times, even when Kageyama wobbled in front of the door attempting to fit every key he had into the lock until he found the right one on the last try.

He opened the door and half-expected Hinata to tell him goodnight and leave, but instead, he slipped through the crack before he could and waltzed into the house like he owned the place. Kageyama remained on the threshold, dumbfounded. But then again, it made sense. Hinata had been to his house quite a few times, mostly to study or play volleyball with him until it got dark. He knew the way to the bathroom and that’s probably why he’d been in such a hurry to get inside. Kageyama swore to keep the comments about his “nervous bladder” to himself.

He took his time to slip out of his outdoor shoes, leaving the bag with his gym clothes and volleyball log in the hallway. He would take care of it in the morning when he didn’t felt like someone had shifted a few of his organs around. When he couldn’t hear the toilet flushing, he was taken aback, and even more so when he followed the only light leading to the kitchen instead of the bathroom. And that’s where he found Hinata, digging through one of the cabinets.

“What the hell are you doing?”, Kageyama asked as he watched Hinata pull out something that looked like flattened candy, but was probably some kind of medicine. There was a glass on the counter, already filled with what he assumed was tap water. Without answering, Hinata plopped the white thing into the glass, picked it up, and offered the suspicious drink to him with a wide smile. Kageyama glared at him, unwilling to touch whatever the dumbass had brewed. His parents weren’t home but surely, they wouldn’t approve of wacky late-afternoon experiments.

“Don’t look at me like I’m gonna poison you.” Hinata grimaced, but there was no edge to his voice, “It’s dextrose. My mom always gave this to me and my sister when we were younger. It’s harmless.”

“I know what dextrose is!”, Kageyama snapped, actually not knowing what that was, pried the glass out of Hinata’s hand, and downed its contents in one go. Hinata stared at him, before cracking up and bursting into laughter. Kageyama’s face heated up as he finished, wiping at his mouth. It tasted like raspberry, which he wasn’t a fan of, but it managed to drown the sour aftertaste of vomit. Besides, getting some fluids back into his system didn’t sound like the worst idea.

“You know, I was gonna ask if you felt better, “ Hinata said between giggles, “-but you’re back to picking fights with me already, so I assume you do.” Kageyama looked up from where he was leaning on the counter, brows furrowing as guilt consumed him like a raging bushfire.

He couldn’t count the instances where he’d judged Hinata for not having his body under control as he did. It had been one of the _very first_ things he’d brought up when they met in the hall of the gym at their last middle school tournament. Granted, he wasn’t proud of quite a few things he’d done back then, including bossing his teammates around and acting like a “selfish king”. But in hindsight, the fact that he had to get sick himself to sympathize with what Hinata was going through on a regular basis was horrible. He was a horrible friend and teammate.

“Sorry.”

“Huh? For what?”, Hinata angled his head as he poured himself a glass of sugary water, cluelessness written all over his face, “I’m not mad or anything. Competing with you is fun.”

“No, I meant the...puking.” Kageyama averted his eyes, taking a sudden interest in the tiles on the floor. Hinata hadn’t said a single mean thing about him getting sick, about karma, or how he should’ve listened instead of dismissing his advice as something that didn’t apply to people like him. He had walked him home, and now he was here offering his support in the form of raspberry-flavored water and casual conversations. Not to mention that Hinata had never needed as much recovery time as he did, and was _still_ looking out for his well-being.

Kageyama kept his eyes down until a hand touched his shoulder, cold and wet from leftover water.

“Hey, I know it sounds corny and you probably don’t wanna hear it but-”, Hinata cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly before picking back up, “It happens. Sometimes our bodies just hate us. I know. I’ve known since I started playing volleyball.” He pursed his lips, sulking a little, and it took Kageyama a while to realize what he was referring to. He’d always had an advantage. Never being too short or too scrawny, rarely getting paralyzed with anxiety unless he had to face Oikawa-san in a volleyball match, never having any of those things to rack his brains about.

“I was a dick to you earlier,” he admitted, forcing himself to look Hinata in the eye. It wasn’t a secret that he found it hard to be “nice” to people and relate to experiences apart from his own, but he wasn’t a coward. He would own up to his mistakes instead of blaming someone else.

“You were,” Hinata replied with a shrug, the corners of his mouth turning into a smile again, “But honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t puke on my lap. That would’ve been a hassle to clean up.” Kageyama grumbled to himself, but something about the way Hinata talked to him made his heart swell. There was not a hint of judgment in his tone, only acceptance that he probably didn’t deserve, but Hinata gave to him anyway. Like during all of their matches, his support was unconditional. Always. Ever since he’d spiked his toss for the very first time.

“Uh...your eyes look all glassy.” Hinata nudged his side, snapping him out of the fond memories, “Does your head still hurt? You don’t have a fever, do you?” The worried frown returned to his face, and he raised on his tiptoes to place his still fairly wet and cold hand on his forehead.

“Ew, no!” Kageyama cringed, both at the sensation and his body’s reaction that had prompted it, shoving Hinata off him as gently as he could, “It’s the bus ride. I still feel dizzy. I’m sure it’s not a fever. I never get fevers!” One look at Hinata’s expression that one could only describe as “done with his crap”, forced him to correct his last claim. “Ugh. Fine. I don’t _usually_ get fevers. Better? Don’t tell me you’re planning to shove a thermometer in my mouth.”

“No, I’m not into that,” Hinata chuckled, finally wiping his hands on his shorts, “I’m gonna leave now so you can get some rest. If you feel better tomorrow, you know it wasn’t serious. Take care, okay?”

“Hm.” Swallowing a streak of disappointment, Kageyama nodded and offered to escort his friend to the door. He looked forward to being alone, brushing his teeth with something that didn’t taste sweet for once, and getting out of his clothes that he _swore_ smelt a tiny bit like vomit. It could’ve been his subconsciousness playing tricks on him but he’d feel much better wearing clean pajamas and crawling into bed with all the lights out, without a certain someone chatting his ear off. And yet, his house tended to feel cold and lonely with just him in it.

The second Hinata opened the door, they were hit by a gust of wind, followed by a spray of rain that made them both jump. As fast as Hinata had opened the door to head home, as fast he was to close it again. The wind howled like a wounded beast and somewhere in the distance, a rumble of thunder made itself known. Well, it _was_ that kind of season. Nothing to write home about. For a few seconds, the two of them stood in the hallway, not saying a word. Kageyama swallowed. If he’d gotten lost on the way home, as “safe” as the neighborhood was, he would’ve ended up soaked from head to toe and, knowing his luck, probably struck by lightning.

“You’re not going out there.” His tone made it sound more like a statement than a suggestion.

“I can text my mom and tell her I’m staying at your house. I’m sure she won’t mind,” Hinata said without looking at him, face as white as a sheet, “She’d be more worried if I came home looking like a wet rag.” Kageyama considered it. The mental image was quite comical. How would Hinata even look with wet hair? Would it frizzle or get all flat and stick to his head like a mop?

“Don’t worry, I’m low-maintenance,“ Hinata claimed, which was a blatant lie since they’ve been bed neighbors at camp before and he was the exact opposite of that, “I don’t sleepwalk, I don’t snore, sometimes I kick people in my sleep, but not very hard. You have a spare futon, do you? Hey, it’d be our first sleepover as friends!” He rambled without pausing for breath.

The idea shouldn’t sound as pleasant as it did, but apparently, this day still had a few surprises left.

“Yeah.” Kageyama took in Hinata’s expression that had morphed from terrified to happy in a second as if the storm outside was a stroke of luck instead of an inconvenience. The whole situation had something absurd to it. Not that he had prior experience puking on vehicles, but surely, things like that rarely ended in heartwarming bonding activities. But then again, this was Hinata.

If there was one thing Hinata excelled at, it was taking a disaster and turning it into an opportunity.


End file.
